At A Loss
by darlasmom
Summary: My tag for The Dwarf in the Dirt. A little look into the mind of Seeley Booth. Not too long, just a short one-shot. Please enjoy!


**Hi, guys! While I'm working on my multi-chapter fic, I simply had to post a tag for this episode. Nothing earth-shattering, just a short fic about what might have been going through Booth's head during the end of the ep. I hope you enjoy - thank you for reading!**

**AT A LOSS FOR EVERYTHING**

The paper target fluttered in the distance, mocking him with a gentle rustle. He'd been unable to hit the mark. He'd tried in vain, but the bullets had scattered like his confused thoughts, flying left and right and south of center no matter how hard he'd tried. His aim in all things lately was left and right and south of center. It would seem that more was lost on that day a few months ago than just a not-so-small chunk of gray matter. He tried to focus on the job at hand, but his worries gnawed tirelessly at him. All the things he'd always defined himself as were slowly but surely being taken away from him. A good brother, good shot, good agent. A good partner. Everyone around him thought it was only a matter of time before he regained everything. But he knew better. Sometimes lost things were just lost. Still, he looked for them because he didn't know what else to do. Trying to fly under the radar so even more wouldn't be taken from him, he searched desperately for those missing parts of himself.

She thought he needed to practice more. Before he'd been able to comment on that typically rational response, she'd stunned him with what came next. That she would even _suggest_ that his problem was psychological, that she thought a problem could even _be _psychological, caused shock to spear him like a .30 caliber through-and-through. If she actually thought that something was wrong with not his brain, but his mind, the consequences would be devastating. Losing her trust would be the end of him; he knew it. She was his truest, brightest mirror, the other half of his whole. It couldn't happen. He wouldn't let it happen. So he kept looking, kept searching for the answer for why everything was so wrong with him. Sought out a cure for what ailed him.

Gordon Gordon tried to help. Even though he had given up psychiatry he willingly took the time to listen, to tender what advice he could. But the newly-minted chef offered no quick fix; no hypnosis or special wisdom or shrink-type trick that would flip the switch in his head that fate had capriciously decided to turn off. He prayed. Not that he be a better shot. He wouldn't pray to be better at something that was so clearly not God's work. But he prayed for the strength to protect those around him, to be a good brother, good agent, good father. A good partner. But it wasn't to be, and he continued the miserable search for an answer to a problem that had no name.

The crucial date rapidly approached and with difficulty he quelled the panic burgeoning within him. To fail at this most important of times would be a disaster that could not be erased; a statement never to be left unuttered. In desperation, he followed Gordon Gordon's advice. If nothing else, her presence at the range would calm his nerves. Her blue eyes gleamed at him, and he forced himself to rein in his nervousness. She had never truly let him down, not ever before. She wouldn't let him down now. So it was with a profound sense of relief but very little surprise that he heard her agree to come with him.

He ignored the people milling about, the acrid stench of gunpowder and harsh retort of various firearms being discharged. When the range master gave him the one minute notice, Gordon Gordon's earlier exhortations crowded into his head, the mental noise distracting him and making him hesitate. Then he turned to look at her and everything hushed. She brought back the silence. And in that silence he found the conviction he'd lost, the strength he needed. Without further hesitation he prepped his gun, aimed and pulled the trigger, drilling fast, tight clusters of holes in the two targets with barely a breath in between.

And he saw.

And in the seeing, marveled that he hadn't seen it sooner. Memories from several weeks earlier flashed quickly through his brain. Avalon's urgent warnings. An almost violent terror that he wouldn't be in time to save his partner. Bones reeling backward, a gleaming scalpel embedded sickeningly in her slender arm. The killer moving in, hands outstretched for a final, fatal blow. Himself, his leg still tingling and throbbing from kicking in the door, lunging forward and aiming and firing in the one millisecond he knew he had, to save her. The bullet flying on its precise path just past her shoulder and thudding solidly home in the killer's chest, in the exact, vital spot he'd intended. When he'd needed to. For her. Gordon Gordon had been right. He could do it for her. He could be there for her, defend her, protect her.

He could do anything for her.

When his eyes swung back to her, she raised a quiet, supportive thumb, her eyes never leaving his. What was she thinking? Did she know? Did she realize that she was the answer? Instantly his desire reared up, an uncontrollable reaction that flooded every cell of his body. Aware that he would be unable to hide it he turned away again. Patience. Gordon Gordon had preached patience. Steeling himself against the lashing pain aroused by denying himself yet again, he went through the motions of holstering his weapon, paying scant attention to the approving murmurs behind him. In that moment, he felt their differences fade completely and irreversibly away, rendered superficial and meaningless. He only needed one person's approval. One person's heart.

*****

He sat on the bench outside the range, his newfound realizations hammering relentlessly at him. He was scared. He'd thought that he'd loved Rebecca, had wanted to marry her. He knew he'd felt something strong for every woman he'd ever been with. But he knew now that his declarations to all of them hadn't been love but merely kind affection. He sat stunned as the full import of his love for her became apparent. He finally knew what love was. And it scared the shit out of him, made him a coward in a heartbeat. From the minute he met her he knew he'd die for her. Why hadn't he also realized that he'd die without her?

He wanted to feel her skin knowing he would get to feel it again; kiss her, knowing she would return the embrace. Smile at her for no other reason than that she was leaning against him. He wanted her in every part of his life. They spent the majority of their time together but even that wasn't enough anymore. When he went home at night the hollowness of his life echoed around him, the rooms filled with an emptiness even when he was occupying them. Everything he did he wanted to do with her - everything he saw he knew would be so much better if he saw it with her.

He detected her scent delicately mingling with the crisp autumn air and knew he had to pull it together. Was she wondering how he was suddenly able to shoot that damn dime out of the air? If she asked him, what the hell could he possibly say? In silence, she sat next to him, squinting into the sun, her muted copper highlights gleaming. After a moment she turned to him, and he tensed defensively. In the beginning of their partnership, when he'd first touched or hugged her she'd flinched away from him as if the contact blistered her. Now he was the one shying away from the burn of her skin. If he felt it now he knew it would be more than he could handle. If he felt it now he might jump the gun and tell her how he felt. God, he wanted to tell her how he felt. He didn't want to be the good guy anymore. He didn't want to hold everything he had for her inside of him forever. He wondered if anyone had ever told her they were in love with her before. No. No, he knew no one had achieved that goal. She would never have let anyone get that close. He couldn't do that to her. If he made a move and it was too soon, or she didn't feel the same, then he was royally screwed. But if he could wait for her to come to him, to feel comfortable enough to be with him, then maybe everything would be okay. He had to wait until she was ready. He loved her. He owed her that much. God, he loved her so much.

"I don't know why you thought you couldn't shoot, Booth. Your marksmanship with the firearm was superb. I told you all you needed was some practice. Have you been practicing?"

At her sensible remark, an easy smile lit his face. He could wait. Somehow he'd manage. Being with Bones wasn't always fun. It wasn't even always comfortable. But it was always right. Nothing else had ever felt so right. If his reward for waiting was her, then he could wait. He would find a way to wait as long as it took.

**And that's it. Like I said, nothing earth-shattering, but I always want to know what my favorite FBI agent is thinking. Thanks again for taking the time to read!**


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